


Strain of Devotion

by queien



Category: Chronicles of Amber - Roger Zelazny
Genre: Kinda feelsy, Literally half this story by word count is just smut, M/M, Uncle/Nephew Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 01:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6883240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queien/pseuds/queien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caine seems aware of Martin's relationship with Brand, dead traitor of Amber.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strain of Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place in the same world as Mother Dearest, but you shouldn't need to read it to understand what's going on. 
> 
> This was a request from my gf, who wanted something with less sad and more gay after she finished reading Mother Dearest.
> 
> Roughly inspired by Serenade's Semper Ardens series.

When I visited Amber soon after the end of the patternfall war, I found my father distracted by his kingly duties. Because of this, I spent much of my time practicing in the library. Playing was relaxing, and even though I didn't have the familiar accompaniment on drums, the echoing notes managed to keep me company. 

I finished a song and lowered my sax when I heard someone clapping. I looked in the direction of the sound and saw Caine, half-cloaked in shadow and leaning against a bookcase.

“I didn't realize I had an audience,” I said. 

“Admittedly, I didn't want you to know you had an audience until now,” he replied.

I stiffened. “Exactly how long have you been listening?”

“Since you first started playing here,” he said, “so a few days now.” He pushed off from the shelf and came closer to me. I reflexively took a step backward. “You playing is full of longing,” he continued. “Is it because Random's so busy and you miss him?” 

“I do wish to see more of him,” I admitted. “However, that's not why.”

“Companionship, then?” He asked. “Do you not have any friends?”

“I can walk through shadow and acquire as many friends as I need,” I said.

“Well then, is it a lover you're pining for?”

He hit the nail right on the head, but the loss was so recent that his question knocked me speechless. 

“I thought so,” he said. “I'm no musician, but I can tell notes of lost passion when I hear them.”

“There was no lost passion,” I found myself saying. 

He raised an eyebrow. “No? Then it was death?”

I responded with silence.

“I see,” he said. “It's good, then, that he died before your love for each other could wane.”

I felt a wave of anger as I continued my silence, but I realized something in what he had said. “How did you know I loved a man?” 

It was his turn to be silent. “A lucky guess,” he eventually said. “Don't think too much of it.” He turned to walked away, but I rushed forward and grasped his shoulder. 

“How can you tell me that?” I asked. “You know, don't you?”

He had stopped walking when I'd grabbed him, but he didn't speak.

“How do you know, Caine?” I demanded. “And how could you kill him if you knew?” I only realized how I had incriminated myself after I had spoken, and a deep blush settled into my features.

He chuckled, and I felt his muscles move under my hand. Glancing down, I realized he was absently shuffling through his pack of trumps. “You shouldn't say things like that so loudly,” he said. He pulled out a trump and held it up. “Let's go somewhere private, and I can answer any questions you may have.”

I only continued to hold onto him as he trumped because I recognized the location depicted on the card he held, although I did wonder where he had gotten it. There was only one prince who knew of that place, and it definitely hadn't been Caine.

Time had added a layer of dust, but the art study had otherwise remained unchanged from when I'd last seen it. I recognized the paintings that lined the walls and was all too familiar with the hands that had painted them. They were an artist's hands, yet they became the hands of a musician when he played me like an instrument and drew songs of pleasure from me. 

I had wanted so desperately to come here when I'd seen the card, but now I had arrived, the pain was so intense that I wanted nothing more than to leave. 

“Why take me here?” I asked.

Caine seemed too preoccupied admiring the artwork to answer. 

I waited a beat longer for his reply and then spoke again. “Was this just to make it more clear to me that you know about me and Brand? Or are you rubbing salt into my wounds?”

Caine turned to face me, and I realized he had been admiring a painting of me, naked and posed. I tried to hide my blush with a glare. “More the former,” he said.

“How did you find this place?” I asked, realizing that evidence of my encounters with Brand littered every surface of this room.

“I wandered out into shadow a very long time ago,” he explained. His tone made it sound as though he might continue, but he didn't. I noticed then how his eyes wandered over me, hungry. I shuddered and rested a hand on my pocket, reassured by the hard case of the trumps within. I knew if he tried anything, I could easily escape.

“This isn't blackmail, is it?” I asked.

“No. Why? Does that sort of thing turn you on?”

My glare and my blush both intensified. I barely managed to stammer out a “no.”

He shrugged and sat at the desk Brand had so often occupied. “Ah well. If it were blackmail, it would be no use. I'm sure your father wouldn't be the type to believe such a thing. It's too easy to fake dirt on someone when everything exists. He'd never believe a bold claim like his son loving his treacherous half brother, and I like being a free man too much to be thrown into jail for slandering the son of our new king.”

I shifted nervously. “I'll ask once more, then, Caine,” I said. “Why take me here? Was it just to prove your suspicions?”

Caine leaned forward and steepled his fingers. “Even though I brought you here, I'm still debating if telling you is the right thing,” he said. “However, I can't have you assuming I'm some pervert, so I suppose I might as well go through with it.”

He stood and approached me. I backed away, reaching for my trumps, but he was too close too soon and grabbed my wrist, twisting it painfully when I fought to free myself and make another go for the cards.

He pressed me against the wall, and I was helplessly pinned. I could feel his erection pressing against me as his face leaned closer to mine. I turned away from him and raised my free hand to push against his chest with all my might. He didn't yield. 

“Get off of me,” I demanded, although I had doubts he'd actually listen. 

I shuttered as I felt his lips brush against my neck. Although I knew it to be Caine, I realized that this place must be playing tricks on me, as I suddenly felt that it had been Brand's lips that had kissed me.

His lips were near my ear and he breathed my name. “Martin.”

I knew that voice, and it sure as hell didn't belong to Caine. 

His grip loosened, and I shoved him off. There, in Caine's place and Caine's clothes, stood Brand.

I could hardly breathe as rage overcame me. I glared at him, wanting to speak but unable to.

“What?” He asked. “Aren't you happy to see me?” 

“Don't fuck with me, Caine,” I said through clenched teeth.

“I'm not Caine; I'm-”

“Brand's dead!” I snapped. “Stop digging up painful memories and just leave me alone!”

He frowned and came closer. “Caine is the one who died,” he said. “He forced my hand, and I had to kill him. When one of my own allies betrayed me and took my form, I claimed Caine's persona and was forced to kill my imposter. It's truly me, Martin.” He stroked my cheek, but when I flinched away, he lowered his hand. “Come now. You seriously don't believe that Caine of all people is a shapeshifter, do you? My strong Chaosian blood, all that time studying under Dworkin, you don't think I would have picked up shapeshifting?” 

It made sense, but if it were true, “why the hell didn't you come find me sooner?”

Brand smiled faintly. “I'm relieved that this is your first response, that your anger is over my continued absence instead of anything else I did,” he said. He paused a moment as though giving me an opportunity to speak, but when he saw I was still waiting for him to answer my question, he continued. “To be honest, the reason I hesitated in revealing myself to you was that I worried that you still hated me for wounding you and for attempting to destroy Amber. It wasn't until today that I had the courage to even approach you, to even look at you again. But what you said to me in the library made me realize that there's still love for me in there, that you genuinely miss me.”

“There's part of me that still hates you,” I said. “You betrayed me and all of our kin.”

“I do regret betraying you.” 

“But not all of Amber?”

“Eventually,” he said, “but it was mostly brought about by my regret of how I hurt you. If you find that hard to believe, keep in mind that I did kill my ally and end my plot.”

“It's hard to imagine you're suddenly loyal to Amber,” I admitted.

“I have always been loyal to Amber,” he said. “My definition is just different than the rest of the family's.” He sat on a couch, throwing one arm across the back of it. “Don't forget that Bleys and Fiona were my allies for much of that time, yet they've both been completely forgiven.”

“They realized that what they were doing was wrong,” I said.

“As did I,” Brand said, “although, admittedly, much later.” He beckoned me toward him. “Come; sit. I said before that I would answer your questions, so join me and I'll talk.”

I took a step closer but then stopped. Brand noticed my reluctance and removed his arm from the back of the couch. However, that hadn't been what had caused my hesitation. 

I stepped closer so that I stood over him, and he raised his face to look at me expectantly. I then straddled him, my hands resting on his chest. His eyes widened. 

“What?” I asked.

“I wasn't expecting that,” he admitted. 

“What were you expecting?”

He shrugged. “For you to slap me.” 

I snorted, and he wrapped his arms around me to pull me in closer. “I still haven't exactly forgiven you,” I said. 

“That's fine,” he said. “As long as this is something we both want right now, that's fine.” He kissed me, and it was suddenly as though no time had passed since the last time we had met this way. 

At first, the kiss was slow and deliberate as we savored our reunion. Each time our lips met was light and teasing or slow and sensual. His hands trailed down along my back and my sides, causing me to shiver. His hands then reached my hips and rested there, holding me as though in disbelief. Our kisses quickened in pace, leaving little time for breathing. We gulped in quick, sharp gasps of air when we could, and with each breath, we held each other closer, tighter. I could feel myself growing harder, and I could only assume he was still erect from when he had pressed me against the wall earlier. His hands then moved to slip up and under my shirt, and when his hands touched my skin, I clung to him as the kiss quickly evolved into something primal, raw, and filled with hungry passion. 

We only paused long enough for him to yank my shirt from me before we entwined ourselves once more. I pulled on the shirt he wore and broke our kiss long enough to say, “get out of these; Caine's clothes don't suit you.” 

He laughed and complied by removing his own shirt, and when he kissed me again, I made a small, content moan.

I ran my hands down his chest, and everything was how I remembered it as. His skin was smooth and stretched over tight, lean muscle that quivered slightly under my touch. I slid my hands back up his chest, savoring him under my fingertips, and then cupped my hands under his jawline as I slipped my tongue inside of his mouth. 

We took turns exploring those long-lost-but-familiar caverns, our tongues sliding and darting across one another's cheeks and teeth. His brushed across the roof of my mouth at one point, and I let out a shuttering moan.

His hands seemed finished with my back and moved onto my chest, tracing the familiar lines he had painted in countless portraits. If I had any doubts as to whether this was truly Brand or not, they melted away with the confident familiarity in the way his hands drew themselves across my skin. His hands went lower, and then he stroked me through my pants. I gasped, breaking our kiss. He continued to touch me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck and moaned as waves of pleasure caused me to tremble.

He paused then but didn't release me. I panted against his neck, still shaking. “You're awfully sensitive,” he commented. “Don't tell me I was the last person to touch you, Martin.” 

I swallowed hard, still panting against him, and hugged him tighter. He seemed to understand my silence.

“I see,” he said. “Then I made a grave error in staying away from you for as long as I did.” He kissed my neck, and I groaned with desire and leaned into him. “I just hope you can forgive my stupidity.” 

I ran one hand up into his short, red hair and nuzzled my cheek against his neck. I, too, hoped I could forgive him. For everything.

He kissed my neck again and then resumed stroking me. I clung to him, my cries of pleasure muffled against his shoulder. It was hard to focus on anything but how he was touching me through my pants, so I'm not sure how or when I ended up on my back on that couch with him above me. I'd only noticed the change when he withdrew his hand and kissed me softly on the lips.

I drew him down onto me and met his kiss with a passion that he returned. When I felt him blindly undoing my pants, however, I let him go. As much as I wanted to embrace him like that longer, there were other things that I wanted more.

He unfastened my pants and removed them from me, staring at all he had exposed with longing. The intensity in his eyes caused a blush to spread across my face, and I closed my eyes and turned my head away from him. My breath was still ragged from our previous exertion combined with anticipation, but it caught in my throat as I felt his palms slide across knees and then down my thighs.

But he stopped there, hesitating so long that I nearly opened my eyes again to see what was the matter, and instead leaned over me again. I felt his lips against my neck and shoulders, his hands on my chest. I moaned and gasped under him, clutching at the couch. 

I thought I imagined it when I felt his hands linger, but when his kisses traveled lower, I could feel without a doubt that he stopped at the scar by my heart. The pause had only been just long enough for me to recognize it for what it was, and then he peppered the area around it with light kisses. I knew that it was nearly impossible to get a true apology from an Amberite, yet I felt that this might be as genuine of an attempt at one that I could get from him. 

The tenderness continued for a while longer but was eventually replaced again by desire. He nipped at the skin of my stomach, and I felt my flesh quiver away from the brief, sharp love bites even as my body arched toward him for more.

Eventually, he was back down where he had started. He licked a long, slow line up the side of my length, and I inadvertently bucked in response. He gave a soft chuckle and then took me into his mouth. One hand wrapped around my base, and he looped his other arm under and around my left thigh. His tongue flicked across me, teasing my most sensitive areas as his head slowly bobbed up and down. 

He had been right about him being the last person to touch me, and between that fact and how excited his previous teasing had made me, I knew I wouldn't be able to last long like this. I might have said something if I'd still been able to put together coherent sentences, except that it seemed that Brand was well aware of how close I was and wanted me to finish. 

I tried to keep my orgasm back for as long as I could, but Brand's skillful tongue always got him everything he desired. 

My nails dug into the softness of the couch and I let out a long groan as I came into his mouth. He waited until I'd finished, and I felt him swallow around me before he pulled up. I lay there panting, my entire body trembling and my eyes still closed. I only opened them when I heard him removing his pants.

It was this that I had wanted all along. I stared up at him expectantly. However, instead of taking me, he lowered himself to my level, and wrapping his arms around my shaking body, held me close as he buried his face into my neck. I held him in return, nuzzling my face against his shoulder. Skin to skin with no cloth remaining to separate us, I could feel his erection throbbing against my thigh. 

I ran a hand through his hair and wondered why he had stopped. I was used to a slight pause if I came first, so that he could give me time to recover before continuing. Yet this time, it felt different. This time, it almost felt like he was waiting for permission to enjoy more of me. 

I played with his hair and kissed his shoulder. “You don't have to stop,” I said, phrasing my words so that they addressed both possibilities. 

He shook his head against me and then lifted it to look me in the eye. “I'm not stopping,” he assured me. “I'm just taking a moment's rest to savor being with you. I don't want this to be over so quickly.”

I nodded in understanding, but I couldn't tell if what he had said had been the entire truth. 

He rested against me a few moments more and then raised himself off of me. With one hand, he lifted my chin and kissed me, and I cupped his face as I returned it. When he pulled away from my lips, I let my hands fall above my head.

He spread my legs, and one finger circled my opening before pressing through the tight ring of muscle and into my body. A second soon joined it, and I moaned as he alternated between gentle stretching and curling his fingers to pleasure my prostate. By the time he added a third finger, I was already hard again. 

He removed his fingers and pressed his erection to my opening. He pushed inside, and I arched my back and groaned as my body yielded to him. He stayed sheathed deep within me for a moment before he began to move.

Each thrust was achingly slow and deliberate, and I raised my hips to meet him each time, longing for a faster rhythm. I first thought that his speed was to tease me, but when I looked at his face, I saw a focus. As he had said, he was indeed relishing each sensation as though it were new, or that it would be the last. Even though I could hardly bear how much I longed for him to take me like he used to, I allowed him his moment as best I could.

It didn't last forever, and seeming to miss the old times himself, he grabbed my hips and sped up his thrusts. He only paused to lift me from the couch so that I, too, was vertical. To slide out of me, he lifted me, and gravity helped us both as he slammed back into me. I wrapped my arms around him, nails digging deep into his back. It was only later that I saw how deeply and repeatedly I had scratched him when I had been thus overcome with pleasure. 

I felt myself grow closer, and as I neared climax, my muscles instinctively tightened about him, amplifying the sensations of him filling me as he thrust and bringing me even faster to peak. “Ah, Brand!” I dug my nails deep into his neck as I came, and I felt him finish inside of me as my own orgasm had begun to wane.

He sat back on the couch with me on top of him, and I could feel him, flaccid, inside me still. His arms were wrapped loosely around me, and he rested his cheek against my chest. 

I'm not sure how long we stayed like that, but I was the one who broke our embrace. I shifted so that he was no longer inside of me, and he lowered his arms and let me go so that I could sit beside him once more.

“I do hope you'll keep my secret,” he said, breaking the silence. “That I still live.”

I leaned my head against his shoulder. “Of course,” I replied. “After all, I wouldn't mind doing that again sometime.”

A slight laugh of relief escaped him as little more than a snort through his nose, and he rested one arm about my shoulders. “I wouldn't mind that as well,” he said.

He held me like this until I recovered, and we took some time to clean up each other's appearances before getting dressed once more. Unfortunately, this also included him transforming back into Caine.

Once we had finished our preparations, he produced a trump to the library. “Shall we?” he asked.

I grinned and nodded, and he took me back to where we had come.

I picked up my saxophone, and Brand took a seat to watch me. Before I could continue my playing, however, Random entered the library. Brand picked up a book from the table beside him and pretended to be engrossed with it.

“Ah, Martin, excellent! You're still here,” Random said to me. “I was hoping to get a chance to play with you today. Oh, hello Caine,” he added, seeming to only just then notice Brand.

Brand smiled slightly and gave a dismissive wave without looking up from his book. “Don't mind me,” he said. “I just happened to be here. But I wouldn't mind some music.”

“Alright,” Random said. He snatched up his drumsticks, twirling one in the air as he seated himself on the throne. “You start, Martin. I'll follow.”

I led with notes that hadn't come from my instrument in what felt like ages, and my father supported me with a powerful beat. I glanced in Brand's direction. His eyes stared unmoving at the pages of the book before him. 

I wonder if he knew that those notes were for him.

**Author's Note:**

> My girlfriend read the line "There, in Caine's place and Caine's clothes, stood Brand" and told me that she imagined Caine's clothes being incredibly loose and baggy on Brand, like they were such a poor fit they were just falling off of him, and I laughed and said "that's exactly what I thought after I wrote the line." Neither of us were quite sure why.
> 
> Also, I had a revelation while writing the end of this. I'm a percussionist and used to play drumset, so writing the ending went something like this:
> 
> "He seated himself on the thro- Wait...Throne...Random is king... No... *Shakes fist at the heavens* Was this on purpose, Zelazny?!"


End file.
